


In Dreams They Come

by flipflop_diva



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In dreams, the true story is told. Ichabod Crane is about to learn that the hard way. Set sometime a few years down the line. Title inspired from "Phantom of the Opera."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams They Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarabithia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/gifts).



> zarabithia, you asked for "After the war is over, the reunion is even better than Ichabod and Abbie's dreams have been." This didn't exactly come out like that, but I hope you like it anyway!

  
_”It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.”_ — George R.R. Martin

 

 

It was hard to recall when the dreams first began, because they seemed to have been a part of him for eons, but Ichabod knew they weren’t always like this.

When he first woke up in this strange new world, the dreams were dark, nightmarish. Only _she_ was his salvation in the dark night. But even she couldn’t scare away the evil that constantly lurked.

At the time, he could see her face, could hear her voice, but nothing else. They could talk but never touch, the dividing line between worlds always present between them, always forcing them apart.

Until the nights years after the war began that it all began to change. Change so slowly, so minutely, he didn’t even realize it. 

First he could smell her, that perfect scent of musky woods and fresh water. Then he could feel her breath on his face. And then he could touch her. A touch of her hand crossing through worlds.

But nothing prepared him for this. 

Ichabod had been up late, poring over papers, desperately trying to decipher puzzles that seemed unsolvable. Abbie had bowed out a couple hours before, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes, but there _she_ was, as she always was in the depths of the night, standing before him, the wind whipping her hair, a smile on her face, but this time … This time her eyes were different, filled with a look he hadn’t seen in hundreds of years. He felt an ache in his gut.

She reached out to touch him and, for the first time in centuries, he could _feel_ more of her than a whisper of skin. This time, he could feel the warmth of her fingers burning his hand, heating him from the inside.

“Ichabod,” she whispered, and her voice washed over him like a silky balm, healing all wounds, and then he was taking her into his arms, feeling her against him. And her lips were on his and they were blending together, as one. His head was spinning, his mind was foggy, his limbs were weak …

And then everything changed. Suddenly they weren’t in the forest and Katrina wasn’t in a dress that had long ago gone out of style, but they were in a bare room and he was holding her, stroking her, loving her.

They were together.

His arms wrapped around her, drew her even closer.

Until another pair of arms also wrapped around her. Dark skin against ivory. And then the three of them were tumbling into bed and it was all he ever wanted.

Until he woke up.

“What?” Abbie said to him the first few mornings after it happened. The same dream, the same outcome, never any more and never any less. “What is it?”

“What is it you are referring to?” Ichabod answered, blatantly staring out the car window and not looking at her.

“You’re being weird,” Abbie said. “Well, weirder than normal. Why won’t you look at me?”

“I do not understand to what you are referring,” Ichabod said, but he still didn’t look at her.

Five days later, Abbie was the one who would not look at him. And the one moment she did, he thought he saw her cheeks tinge a little pink.

“Miss Abigail, is there a problem?” he inquired after he had witnessed this incident.

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly!” But she kept her eyes on the road and didn’t look at him.

Three weeks and nine dreams later, Ichabod finally had the nerve to mention he’d had a dream. And then he watched in perplexion as Abbie nearly jumped out of her skin and finally he was sure she’d had one too.

The dreams didn’t stop, though, once they talked about them. Instead they got stronger, more intense, more detailed.

He could feel Katrina, could feel her skin under his fingers as he peeled her dress off of her — as Abbie peeled his clothes off of him.

The dreams never went past the foreplay, though, as if taunting him, antagonizing him, trying to show him something that could never be.

Even so, the nights were the easy part. In his dreams, he was certain, certain of what he wanted, certain that being with them both was right and easy.

The days weren’t so simple. 

Abbie was his partner, his friend, someone to battle the forces of evil with. His feelings for her were strictly platonic.

He could not have romantic feelings for her. It was not right. It would not do.

Katrina was his wife, the love of his life. She was trapped but she wasn’t dead, and he must love only her and no one else.

“It’s quite alright,” Katrina whispered to him one night in his dream. It was the first time any of the three of them had spoken aloud in the dream since the dreams began. 

In the dream, Ichabod’s hands traced down Katrina’s naked body, smoothed over her curves, as he bent his head to take her in, to breathe in her flesh.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he said to her, his hands moving still lower and lower.

“You can not hurt me by loving too much,” she said, and she moaned softly as his fingers trailed over her navel, still traveling south. “There is much room for us all.”

She stopped talking then, his fingers finally finding what they had been looking for, and then he awoke.

“This is awkward,” Abbie said that morning as they avoided each other over coffee. “Not that it wasn’t before, but this is really awkward.”

“I hope you know,” Ichabod said, studiously emptying more sugar packets into his coffee than anyone could possibly ever need, “that I do not wish to objectify you or to think of you in any way other than merely professional.”

“Well, gee, thanks.”

Ichabod looked up at her tone. She did not seem pleased.

“Is that not what you wanted me to say?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Only professional? So much for thinking we are friends.”

“Oh … oh, dear … I did not…. I meant …” Ichabod stumbled over his words. “That is not what I meant,” he said finally.

“That is what you said. Three years. Countless escapes from death. Seeing things no one else has ever seen. But we’re just professional. No feelings whatsoever.” Abbie slammed down her coffee. “At least I know where I stand.”

Ichabod showed her that night in their dream where she stood. 

They were both in front of him, looking at him, a warm smile on Katrina’s face, a scowl on Abbie’s. And for the first time, Ichabod had the impression he could control what happened.

He reached toward Abbie first, pulled her into him, let himself wrap her in his arms. She felt … she felt surprisingly comfortable and warm. She seemed to fit his features as much as Katrina did.

And then Katrina was behind them and it was her fingers that were brushing over Abbie’s skin, peeling cotton away from flesh.

And this wasn’t right. Ichabod shouldn’t look at Abbie, shouldn’t be seeing another woman in this state, but Katrina didn’t stop. She left the fingers of one hand undoing Abbie’s clothes as her other hand made its way to Ichabod’s face, stroking his cheek.

“Do not fear your feelings,” she said, “This is the way it must be. The way it was fated to be. It is all okay. Kiss her.”

Ichabod didn’t know what to say. He dropped his gaze down to Abbie, who returned his stare stubbornly, then back to Katrina, who nodded in encouragement.

‘Go on,” Katrina urged, and Ichabod finally obeyed. He lowered his head, moved his lips closer, until finally he found her, until finally he could feel Abbie responding, could feel Katrina touching him.

The two women he loved.

As it should be.


End file.
